Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove
June 18, 2005

Who and how should God’s name be invoked on matters of public discourse and public policy? It is a difficult question which certainly can’t be answered fully here this morning, but it is an important and timely issue for us to consider. I believe, and I hope you do as well, that Judaism, in its most authentic and vital formulation, makes a claim on what we do, not just here in this building or at the Shabbat table, but in secular society as well. For me, and I hope for you, there are such things as Jewish values that must inform the decisions we make. From the Garden of Eden and the Prophetic call to justice, to the Rabbis of the Talmud and the Religious Action Center in Washington D.C., Judaism makes a claim on how we live our lives and how we see the world. We are called to engage actively in issues that matter such as poverty, health care, social security, tax reform and everything in between. I make no secret of my belief that Judaism must be socially relevant and that Jews must be socially responsible. For our Judaism to be fully alive, it must speak to us both in the home and the street, on matters of ritual and social concern, personal and public policy.

But the situation gets more complex when we unpack this thought and all of its implications. Because the question quickly becomes, then, what happens when someone understands God’s will or interprets sacred scripture on an issue slightly more controversial than poverty or hunger; for instance, on end-of-life issues or abortion? And what if that person isn’t your rabbi, but a public figure, perhaps a politician, who claims that his position on a certain issue is informed by his religious sensibility? What if a politician, or even the president, makes a policy decision informed by a religious value that you do not share? We are living in a moment when religious values are being co-opted into public discourse by the left and right. The entire political spectrum is ransacking our sacred texts, proof-texting towards diverse political ends. And, from what I understand of the first amendment, as Americans, we cherish the foundational and sometimes conflicting belief in freedom of expression and the notion that no religious belief should ever hold sway over another. And so, by invoking God’s name in public, we are both exercising our right to free expression and playing dangerously close to blurring the line between church and state. In essence, the question always returns to the issue of who has the right to invoke God’s name. Who is authorized to speak on behalf of God’s will?

The parasha this week asks a not too dissimilar question, not just once but twice, and it gives us two dramatically different answers. The two scenes are set in the wilderness wandering. The first is the account of two Israelites, Eldad and Medad, who are seized by prophetic ecstasy and begin to speak to the people on their own accord on behalf of God. Joshua, Moses’ right hand man and one who is prompted by his fear in this moment, sees what is going on and tells Moses that Eldad and Medad are invoking God’s name in an unauthorized way and advises Moses literally “to do them in.” Moses responds to Joshua with a sharp rebuke, one of the most famous lines of the whole bible, saying: “Are you jealous for my sake? Would it be that all the Lord’s people were prophets.” This exchange points to Moses’ extraordinary character and secures Moses’ status as the most humble of all prophets. But the rabbis also take it to signal a certain understanding of how God’s will makes itself known. The rabbis compare prophecy to a candle, whereby one candle can light another without diminishing the flame of the first. God’s word is accessible to all and each person is authorized to invoke it. In a sense, Moses’ words indicate that God is almost counting on humanity to make God’s will known here on earth.

And yet scarcely has the drama of Eldad and Medad subsided when another challenge erupts, this time from within the family. Aaron and Miriam, Moses’ siblings, appeal to God, putting the question squarely on the table: “Has God only spoken to Moses? Has not God also spoken with us?” And to cut a long speech short, God replies to them absolutely: Only with Moses does God speak “mouth to mouth.” Nobody else, Aaron, Miriam or any other prophet, can claim unmediated access to God’s will. So great was Moses, the mystical text, the Zohar, explains, that the Shekhina, the divine presence, spoke literally from his voice box. But Moses’ greatness was entirely unique, and Aaron and Miriam were punished for their challenge. The message of the second narrative is exactly opposite to the first. According to the first, it would be well if everyone invoked God’s name in public. In the second, however, nobody is authorized to prophesy, to speak in God’s name, not Aaron and Miriam, not anyone. God’s voice is singular, unique and inaccessible to anyone other than Moshe Rabeinu himself.

And so we have two models, let’s call them the “all the people are prophets model” and the “only Moses” model. In the first, public discourse allows, if not depends on, human beings claiming to give expression to God’s will. In the second, such an act is sinful audacity, reserved only for a single prophet, Moses.

Now the closest I ever got to law school was sending in a deposit to reserve a spot in case rabbinical school didn’t pan out. And, as many lawyers in this community have pointed out to me, both the profession of law and the rabbinate are stronger because my career took the direction it did. But, as I see it, these two narratives somehow encapsulate the two opposite ends of the spectrum on the issue. I think the “all the people prophets” model was summed up nicely by Senator Joe Lieberman who stated: “The Constitution guarantees freedom of religion not freedom from religion.” What he argued, as many other social commentators have, is that freedom of expression allows that we construct our opinions, our discourse and, perhaps, our policies based on a number of considerations, religion being merely one of many. And if you believe that the point of religion is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, if you believe that a national budget is a moral document, if you believe that the point of faith is to realize God’s will on earth, then you can not ask or expect a person to check their faith at the door when engaging in debate. And I may disagree with what someone else’s faith tells them is the stance on social security reform, stem cell research or the war in Iraq, but as an American, I respect and even protect their right to formulate an opinion based on religious beliefs.

The opposite end of the spectrum, what I am calling for shorthand the “only Moses” model, is represented by many in the legal, political and even Jewish community. Two important thinkers to read up on regarding this issue are the great pragmatic philosopher Richard Rorty and the legal theorist John Rawls. The basic premise of this position seems to be that political policies, almost by definition, are backed by the coercive powers of the state. As such, the rationale behind any policy or legislation must be phrased in a way that is equally accessible and reasonable to all. Religious arguments, also by definition, are arguments that draw on premises that are not shared by everyone in a radically pluralistic society. And, as you imagine the argument unfold, for someone to create, legislate or adjudicate based on religion, rather than some commonly held conception of public reason, almost necessarily impugns on another citizen’s free expression of religion. Basically, it boils down to the idea that, if someone invokes God’s name when formulating public policy, his action is an affront to the Bill of Rights, the social contract and, as a theologian, perhaps even to God, God’s self.

So, where does this all leave us? We have two sides of the debate, both compelling, both problematic and, predictably, both with rather strong support within the Jewish world. Well, in good rabbinic fashion, let me say, both sides have their strengths and weaknesses. I put this question in that category of unanswerable questions along with “Does God hear our prayers?” and “Why do bad things happen to good people?” But in good rabbinic fashion, let me also weigh in on the issue. As a rabbi, I think that Jewish educators have a right, if not a responsibility, to teach what our tradition has to say about a certain issue. You may agree or disagree with our tradition, but I would make the same demand on you as I do myself; that is, how I see the world must always be shaped and understood through the lens of our sacred tradition. As the clever ad states: “God is not a Republican or a Democrat.” The issue for me is not who you vote for, but that when you do, in your decision making, you are informed by your Jewish sense and sensibility.

And as for our elected officials-here I am on unsure footing -it is my hope that this coming fall, the social action committee will organize an event with teachers far more learned on these issues than I. But for the moment, even if it were to be theoretically desirable to keep religion out of the public forum, which I am not sure that it is, pragmatically, I think it is impossible to create an airtight barrier between political debate and religious values. The categories of the conversation have been pre-empted by other Americans who claim to speak for all religious people. As Jews, we need to throw our hats and yarmulkes actively into the ring. As I have said before, I am not even close to being ready to grant someone else the right to interpret a tradition that I claim to be my inheritance and my charge to keep.

We all may recall the famous question asked in Fiddler on the Roof: “Is there a proper blessing for the Czar?” And the answer, known to virtually every American Jew communicates a historic Jewish distrust of authority: “May God bless and keep the czar away from us.” In the past century, the status of American Jewry has transformed from a space of marginalization to one of active participation in the political process and, for the first time in Diaspora history, we are asking the question: what does Judaism tell us about the challenges faced by secular society? As we move forward, I would ask you to keep the following in mind: First, we need to concede the fact that if we ourselves draw on religious language to make a point or policy, we must respect the right of others to do the same, towards positions that we may find to be entirely contrary to our own. Second, we need to be tactful in our modes of conversation and encourage others to be so as well, towards rhetoric that acknowledges that, though our faith tells us one thing, we do not presume to speak for all Americans. Third, as Jews, we must be both actively engaged in the political process and respectful enough of the authority of our tradition to know that we can not simply go about quoting texts to support the positions that we hold anyway; rather, to be Jewish means to wrestle with the word of God. Finally, we need to know that, though we may seek to know and realize God’s will here on earth, we must tread carefully and humbly, all the while being sensitive to the truth that God’s word always lies just beyond the horizon of our comprehension.